


Red String, Black Ink

by Vanui



Category: THE iDOLM@STER, The iDOLM@STER Cinderella Girls
Genre: Alternate Universe - Soulmates, F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-26
Updated: 2016-03-26
Packaged: 2018-05-29 04:50:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,306
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6360007
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vanui/pseuds/Vanui
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Going through the motions of life is much more exciting when there's a goal and something to search for.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Red String, Black Ink

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Deep Oceans of No Light](https://archiveofourown.org/works/5868019) by [QuickYoke](https://archiveofourown.org/users/QuickYoke/pseuds/QuickYoke). 



It starts like an itch at first. The skin of her left shoulder blade burns a little, but the sensation isn't really painful so much as annoying and distracting. She scratches at it hoping for relief. It doesn't help.

"Anya, are you ready to go?" Papa calls from downstairs.

Turning towards the bathroom door, she replies, "Yes, I'll be down in a second!" He says something else to her, but she doesn't hear his words. Instead, her eyes are caught on the reflection of her shoulder blade in the mirror, her heart stopping in her throat.

There, written clear as day in thin, neat black characters on her pale skin are the words: "It's nice to meet you."

"Hajimemashite," her lips mouth, and she marvels at the way the language feels on her tongue, still so foreign despite her many years of speaking it while she's at home. Growing up in Russia means learning and speaking Russian, but she made the effort to learn Mama's native tongue too. She can't speak as nicely or as quickly as Mama, and living in Russia hasn't helped her fix her accent, and she's not sure if she ever will, but at least she knows she can speak good enough Japanese to get by.

It makes sense too, that the words on her back are in Japanese and not the Russian that she's familiar with. Today is the day she leaves the home she's spent the last ten years living in, after all. The thought of heading to a country where she'll probably never hear her native tongue again makes her sad, but so long as she's with her Papa and Mama, she'll be okay. She knows it.

Still...

"Hajimemashite," she says again, staring at the handwriting and marveling at the crisp forms of the words.

"Anya? Are you alright?" Mama this time calls, voice echoing in the empty house. For as much as she struggles with Japanese, Mama has never lost the lilt to her voice that reveals Russian isn't her preferred choice of language. But that never stopped her from making friends in Russia, did it? Maybe she would be okay making friends in Japan then.

That thought shakes her back into motion. "Coming!" she answers and quickly puts her cardigan back on. Not wanting to bother her parents with it now, she decides she'll tell them later once they're settled in and rested from the journey.

She wonders how many questions of hers they'll be able to answer.

...

Hokkaido is cold. But not as cold as Russia.

Her Japanese is improving day by day, and none of her classmates have ever directly made fun of how slow she speaks and how careful she is to make sure she makes no mistakes, but while her back is turned she can hear them whisper and laugh the cruel truths amongst themselves. It hurts at first, but after she volunteers to collect everybody's papers after every quiz and confirms that none of their handwriting matches the one carved into her back, all their comments start to hurt a little less. Eventually, the hurt goes away completely. They're not important enough to hurt for.

Besides, the stars in the night sky remain the same as they were in Russia, and she knows that they'll never betray her. That's plenty enough to keep her happy, especially with Papa's warm hand holding onto hers when they stargaze together. On those nights she can feel how much he misses Russia too, but this far north in Japan, they get enough snow to almost make it feel like home. That's probably why he chose to live here of all places.

As the days go on, she can feel herself slowly warming up to Japan.

...

According to the book she bought the other day, thinking in a second language means progress in fluency and general improvement in said language. Learning this is a slight blow to her confidence. Five years of living in the country and speaking the language every day hasn't changed the Russian that flows through her mind and that escapes through her mouth when she pauses to find the equivalent phrase in Japanese.

Even so, she's getting better. At the very least, she's probably surpassed Papa's level of Japanese, but he's never been amazing at the language either. That hasn't stopped him from making quick friends with the neighbors and drinking with his coworkers though, and she wonders if maybe friends are easier to make when you're older.

It's already been five years. Five whole years. She wonders how much longer she needs to wait before she's old enough.

In the meantime, amongst the few people she's met, none of them have the handwriting she's looking for, so she busies herself with studying as much as she can.

...

"An idol?" She blinks, confused. Yet the man with the tall stature and imposing face does not change his expression, his back bent over while his arms offer a small white card.

"Yes," he says, voice deep and serious. "Are you interested in becoming one?" comes the question again.

Hesitantly, she takes the business card. Her eyes scan over the information. It looks very professional. Real. Not at all a scam. And judging by his neatly pressed business suit and resolute eyes, he's not kidding. This is a very real offer.

"I," she starts, then stammers out some Russian. He isn't phased by her slip of language, however, just waits patiently for her to continue. "I've seen idols on television before. But I've never thought about becoming one."

He stares back at her, waiting for more.

Uncomfortably, she tries to ignore the people pointing and whispering at them, standing awkwardly as they are in the middle of the sidewalk where the man had suddenly stopped her. "They always seemed so bright and out of reach," she stammers again, more Russian slipping out as she struggles to remember what the words are in Japanese. "Like stars."

Blinking, he takes her words into account. "Then," he says, "would you like to try becoming one?"

...

"An idol?" Papa asks, his eyebrows shooting off his forehead.

Mama, on the other hand, only looks amused. "Why not?" she says to Papa. "It's a good chance for her to move to Tokyo and go to a better school."

"That's not the problem!" he shrieks, tears welling up in his eyes. "Just thinking about other men looking at my Anya..."

Mama rolls her eyes. Turning to Anya, she smiles and pats her on the head. "That production company is very famous, so I know you'll be in good hands if you do decide to go. You have my blessing."

"But Anya will be so far away from her Papa..."

"Oh, stop crying. You can't keep her forever, you know."

As Papa keeps crying while Mama shakes her head fondly at him, she feels a pang of sadness shoot through her heart. If she goes, they'll have to stay here. Even when she moved to Japan, she'd always had them with her, but now...

Not having Papa and Mama will be hard. But staying the way she is right now will be even harder to bear.

She wants to change. She wants to shine bright like a star.

...

The rush, the excitement, overwhelms her the first month. Flying to Tokyo, moving into the production company's dormitory, unpacking her belongings, meeting fellow idols and beginning her training, it's nearly too much to deal with. But it's fun. Very fun. It's the first time she's felt so alive in years. Maybe ever.

Of course, she misses Papa and Mama. In fact, she'd cried the first week after calling them the second or third time. But with each passing day the pangs of loneliness are filled with the bright smiles of her friends and coworkers and the comforting presences of her trainers and the Producer. It's the first time she's really gotten along with people outside of her family.

It's tough, of course. Sometimes her dorm room feels too empty without the sounds of Papa laughing and Mama bustling around the kitchen. But all she has to do is walk out of her room and plop herself onto a couch in the lounge to be wrapped up in the sounds of Miku ranting, Miho and Sae giggling, Ranko shrieking while Koume tells horror stories, and the chatting of whoever else decides to hang out that day.

There are a lot of idols working in their company. It's a little intimidating at times, but it keeps every day interesting. It also gives her a good number of people to speak "Hajimemashite" to, and she makes a point to ask nearly everybody for help with Japanese at one point or another, but she finds that none of them possess the handwriting she's looking for.

The search is a fun enough distraction between dance and vocal training, so she doesn't take the failures to heart. There's still plenty of people to meet.

...

The Producer suddenly takes her out of practice one day. Miku complains that she gets to leave early, but a sarcastic comment from Riina immediately has the two of them at each other's throats. Right before the door to the dance room closes, she can hear the trainer's intimidating voice breaking them apart and into subdued obedience. The woman is scary when angered.

"Did you need something, Producer?" she asks, unintentionally rolling her r's. That habit of hers will probably never be fixed. She trails behind his tall stature as they head for the elevator.

"There are some people I want you to meet," he states, pressing the up button for the elevator. "Due to scheduling conflicts, you haven't met some of the other girls yet."

She frowns. "Miku and Riina are in this project too, yes? Why aren't they coming?"

"They've already met the rest of the girls we've gathered so far," he answers simply, and they step into the elevator.

The ride up is spent in bated breath and tense silence on her end. It's just a regular meeting, exchanging names and getting to know new people, but something about today, about this moment, gives her anxiety. She's not sure why. There's no reason to feel this way.

Soon enough, they reach their floor and step out. Her palms are sweaty. Actually, all of her is sweaty. She remembers she was just pulled out of practice and wonders if the Producer even realized that. She wants to ask if she can go wipe herself off and change out of her tracksuit, but then they reach the office door and he twists the doorknob and pushes without hesitation.

There is an explosion of noise. The girls in the room vary drastically in height and age, and she barely has time to collect herself before they're all over her, excitedly calling her foreign features pretty and poking her in various regions. Their reactions are cute, in a way, although she's kind of terrified as well.

Eventually, the Producer settles them down and then she's barraged with names and introductions, her head spinning to match names with faces she's only seen for a few minutes at most. A few of the girls who hadn't jumped onto her move closer, and it's only then that she catches the figure hovering furthest from the group.

Her eyes widen in shock. Almost entirely out of her own control, the Russian slips out of her mouth before she can stop herself. "Beautiful," she breaths, and abruptly she slaps a hand over mouth and tries to ignore the heat spreading up her cheeks.

To her surprise, however, the other girl turns red as well, and she can only blink dumbly as the other girls clamber to ask what language she'd just used. She can't bring herself to answer them, only vaguely register that they're there. Her attention is focused solely on the other girl. She watches as the girl slowly exhales the red from her face and forms her expression into a gentle smile.

"It's nice to meet you," she greets, and her voice is just as gentle, kind and bright.

Her mouth goes dry. She can't stop staring. The other girls probably think she's crazy, and maybe she feels a little crazy right now, but she can't bring herself to move.

She's heard these words countless times over the years, but this time, this time she just knows, she feels...

"I'm Minami Nitta. I look forward to working with you."

...

They spend a lot of time together.

It doesn't take much effort on her part. It just sort of naturally happens. At first, it's just a few minutes here and there between practices and lessons. Then they have lunch together one day and everything spirals off from there.

She learns that Minami is a first year college student in Tokyo, that she plays lacrosse and is great at it no matter how much she insists she's not, that she gives her all into whatever she does and that she's willing to try anything once and that's how she ended up becoming an idol. That she is good at a lot of the things she's tried, but being good isn't necessarily being the best, and that neither being good at nor being the best at something guarantees having fun.

Being an idol, she tells her, is the most fun she's had in a long time.

The next best thing, she tells her, has been learning Russian.

That's why Minami had known the word she'd said when they met. They have a good laugh about the whole incident, but deep down inside, Anya wonders what Minami's handwriting looks like. She can't bring herself to check.

Instead, she asks why Minami started learning Russian, but the girl refuses to tell her. It's a secret, she says, and she smiles that gentle smile so Anya lets it go.

...

Somewhere down the line, they form a unit together. The Producer puts them together without consulting them, but neither of them are particularly upset about the decision. They're both rather happy, actually.

Soon, the time for their CD debut arrives, and the recordings and the practices go as smoothly as they can for a couple of beginners in the industry. The problems only begin when their first live show approaches.

Everyone's nervous, of course. They're not the only unit performing their debut tonight, but they're the first ones on stage and that's more pressure than she really wants. But as nervous as she feels, she knows Minami can only be worse. The girl has never challenged herself so far out of her comfort zone before, and the fear of failure for somebody who usually succeeds can be crippling.

Anya herself has had too many years of struggling to fit into a foreign country to be afraid of failing and being gawked at by strangers.

As they stand behind the curtains waiting in their white outfits, she watches Minami stare intensely at the floor. She wonders how she should approach this, because staring or not Minami is the older one out of the two of them, and how would she feel being comforted by a junior four years younger than her?

Doing nothing is probably worse than doing something, she eventually decides, so she opens her mouth and calls, "Minami."

Minami turns to her, cheeks flushed, a light sheen of sweat on her skin.

She struggles with trying to remember the Japanese, then smiles and holds out her hand. "Let's shake hands," she tells her in Russian first, followed by the Japanese as soon as she remembers. It's a force of habit to clarify her slip ups by now, even though she knows Minami knows what she's saying.

Minami gapes at her for a moment, eyes wide, before her lips turn upwards in relief. "Okay," she agrees, but Anya doesn't let go of her hand once the shake is over.

She holds on up until they run onstage and have no choice but to separate and start the performance.

...

It's a success. She feels a little bit closer to the stars that she wants to become, but most of all, she's grateful she doesn't have to make the journey alone.

...

It's only when they're in the dressing room and beginning to change that she accidentally catches a glimpse of Minami's bare left shoulder blade and forgets how to breathe. She doesn't even realize she's stopped moving until she feels eyes boring into her head, and she looks up into the wall of mirrors in front of them and catches Minami's surprised gaze in the reflection.

They don't say anything for a good long while. Just stare, shocked, into each other's eyes.

"Krasivaya," she blurts out, and even she is surprised at the fact that she's read the word out loud.

Minami swallows thickly and gives a weak smile. "After I figured out what language this is, I often wondered what kind of person would say that to me as their first sentence."

She feels herself turn red, probably even redder than the first time she'd said that word to Minami. "Is this why you started studying Russian?" she asks.

Minami nods, shyly lifting her gaze away. "I guessed that it might be helpful to learn the language. Especially if I'm spending the rest of my life with somebody who speaks it."

The rest of her life. The weight of such words sink heavily into Anya's mind. She tests the phrase on her tongue. "The rest of your life."

Minami's eyes suddenly go wide. "Not that," and she stammers, throwing her hands up and frantically waving them around, "not that it has to be you, of course! It could be somebody else, and, well, you know coincidences happen, and mistakes can be made, and oh, this is terribly embarrassing..."

She's struck, all of a sudden, with mischievous inspiration. Quickly, she reaches for her bag and rummages inside of it, ignoring Minami's confused look. It doesn't take long for her to find what she's searching for.

Picking it up, she hands it to Minami, enjoying the way her eyebrows furrow together.

"...What?"

"Will you sign my copy of our CD?" she requests, holding out a pen.

"...Why?"

"Write down the first words you ever said to me."

...

She holds it in her hands, doing her best not to give in to the nervous, hopeful look that Minami pins her down with.

Honestly, she doesn't even need to glance at the thin, neat black characters written on the plastic case to know what it says and how accurately it matches the markings on her own shoulder blade.

Hiding her smile, she sets the CD down and turns innocently to the other girl. "Minami, can you help me out of this dress?"

...

She bursts out laughing once the dress is off her shoulders and Minami is hugging her tightly from behind. They look like fools in the mirror, half dressed as they are, but even as foolish as they appear, she thinks Minami has never looked more beautiful, happy tears staining her eyes.

"Krasivaya," she says again, and Minami looks up at her through the mirror.

"Stop it."

"Krasivaya."

"Stop!"

"Krasivaya! Minami, your face is so red!"

"Geez, stop it already!"

"Okay."

"...Are you really going to stop that easily?"

"I have the rest of our lives to say it as much as I want, so there's no rush, right?"

Minami doesn't dignify her with a verbal response, just buries her face into her shoulder with the tips of her ears burning red. Eventually, however, she settles with, "I can't believe your marks are nowhere near as embarrassing as mine."

Anya smiles brightly. "These words were yours though, not mine."

Minami pinches her on the cheek. Then carefully kisses the pain away after.

**Author's Note:**

> Truthfully I wrote this for a class and am hoping nobody knows these characters and catches me at the fanfiction life. This is also why it's rushed because whoo boy deadlines during a week of tests and speeches in my other classes. Is there even an English Cinderella Girls fandom to show this to? Ah well, here's to whoever chances upon this!


End file.
